S&M  Schuester and Masochism
by godivaraphael
Summary: Kurt bankrupts the Glee Club budget on costumes, and Will has to find a way to make some cash, before it's too late, and the club can't make Sectionals! And will Kurt find love in the most unexpected of places? Kurt/Will Friendship, Kurt/Puck
1. But We Got No Money

So... hello again? Well, I was away for so long because you could say I am on stress leave, or had a minor breakdown, am taking a vacation, or lots of other things. At the end of the day, I was at a school that was just torture, and now I'm out of there; think Kurt this season except backwards. Now, I'm going to public school, leaving my private school, because the bullying got too bad. Sigh. The joys of adolescent life, huh? Well, at the end of the day... SORRY! I loved updating, but that school was just a vicious thorn in my side. So, I feel like I'm starting from scratch, and although I will try and update some of my stories [finish ET, Kurt's Anatomy, and Scars, which was my baby :(] I guess being picked on takes a hit to your confidence, so while summertime was great for me to post stories, I wasn't in an emotional state to really want to write anything at all. So, now, I'm taking three online courses, but until then, no school, because I'm moving from term to semester. That took a lot longer then it needed to, but now, **_THE GOOD PART!_** So, I've been thinking that, while I enjoy some of the new season, some of it frustrates me a little bit because the risks aren't big enough yet, and not enough is really happening. So, I've decided I am going to go for a lot more outrageous stories. Scars was pretty stereotypical, and even Kurt's Anatomy was pretty straightforward, but think E.T strange for my new stuff. This first story is called S&M, which stands for **Schuester and Masochism, **and it's the story of a teacher who gets broke and finds a job that might pay well enough to get him out of the debt. I'll give you a hint; my inspirations were Rihanna's S&M, and the Zanzibar club in Toronto, which slogan is "72 Nude Dancers! Our Girls Never Stop!". Of course, it is Teen, and other than some thug language (sorry for that...), it's pretty clean. Anythin' dirty is left to the imagination for the most part. I am going to try to do a Dialogue Exercise (because I love readin' em, so why not write 'em?), and write a long story about... zombies? I know. I took a break, and now I've gone crazy. But if I don't get to the story, you're all going to hate me. I don't own it, blah blah blah, Ryan Murphy, whatever (does anyone think people are trying to take credit for Glee?)

* * *

Like many cliched stories with unbelievable occurrences, this one begins in the small town of Lima, Ohio, where, unbeknownst to our protagonists, something strange is about to occur. Because, for reasons that could only be described as ignorant, naive, and neglegent, William Schuester decided that the William McKinley High School Glee Club needed new costumes, and Kurt Hummel would be the best guy for the job. On paper, that sounded like a good idea; he wore only the best clothes, followed all of the trends, and had just begun interning at an up-and-coming fashion line at the other side of town. But in reality, anyone who knew Kurt would have slapped Will in the face at the news that follows; he gave Kurt the Glee Club Budget credit card. Kurt only had two missions; to get some new costumes for sectionals, and to stay underneath the budget. And that is how our story begins...

* * *

"$27,834!" Sue chuckled to herself as she heard Will's voice crackling away at another student. His voice in anguish would be enough to power another 6 miles on the treadmill for her, and would be another addition onto Becky's series of mixtapes; William Schuester: A Failure. But right now, Will's mind was only on Kurt's failure, which was spending three times the Glee club budget on a series of designs by Armani, Versace, Hugo Boss, and even Chanel (for Rachel's sure-to-be spectacular ballad selection, of course).

"You told me to buy the nicest clothes in town, and frankly, there was nothing nice in town, so I thought it best to hit the world wide web, and get some of our Glee club threads from online stores. And frankly, we got some pretty good deals-"

"Deals? Deals? What kind of deal bankrupts the Glee club and has me fired from my job?"

"Fashion has it's price, Mr. Schue. Learn that, and we'll be a fashionable force to be reckoned with at Sectionals."

"We can't even go to Sectionals, Kurt! With the amount of money you spent, the unemployment line is my next stop." Will wiped his brow furiously, before sitting down on one of the several empty seats. Perhaps it had been a sixth sense to have Kurt come in 15 minutes before Glee rehearsals to tell him this news, but either way, none of the Glee kids had to see this.

What felt like an eternity for Kurt passed, waiting for Mr. Schuester to say something, until he realized that perhaps his teacher and mentor had become so possessed with rage, he was speechless. Come on, it couldn't have been that bad, right? So, Kurt may have gone a little overboard, but it would be worth it in the end, and the budget was negotiable, so it's not like it's the end of the world.

"Wait. Kurt, we can fix this!" Kurt felt his heart skip a beat as Mr. Schue leapt from his chair, looking like a new man; a much, much happier man. "Yeah, all we have to do is return all of the clothes you bought, and then we're all set, and maybe we can get someone a little more... cheap, to buy the clothes!" Kurt's expression fell almost as fast as Will's mood had risen at this news.

"Return? Mr. Schue, these were sale items. As in, _final sale_. There are no exchanges, returns, or anything of the like." Will's face went stone cold, and he sat back down in his seat, finding a spot on the wall to look at, just anything but his student. "Wait, look, this is my fault, so how about I just try and pay the bill myself out of the money at my work."

"Kurt, I can't have you do that. Your just a kid, asking you to pay that amount of money would be pure insanity. Besides, we have to pay off this bill in the next thirty days, or the school will catch wind of this, and we're toast." Kurt began to pace around the piano, trying to look as hopeful as possible, but really, he was feeling as helpless as Mr. Schuester right about now. How could he have done this to his teacher? The poor guy had just gone through a divorce, lost a "baby", and the love of his life had married a dentist in Vegas. The kids were his one support in his life, and now, he was toast. Kurt had to admit, though, he was handsome toast. And who knew he looked so adorable concerned and upset? Brooding. He could almost be a-

"Model!" Will jumped from his seat, and looked up to see Kurt's beaming expression. "Yeah. model! I read on our news bulletin that Marc Jacobs is looking for a male model to stare in their new ad campaign for their new male fragrance!"

"What does that have to do with me?" Kurt sighed at the confused teacher. Was he honestly so clueless? First Finn, and now him. Why did all the cute ones have to be so thick?

"It's an open call. You should try out!" Will spent a second or two looking stunned, then, went straight into laughter. "What? What's so funny?"

"Kurt, that's nice and all, but modeling? Me? No way. I'm not going to book a job like that, I'm too... ordinary."

"Mr. Schue, are you kidding me, you're nothing but! I've seen you at parent teacher meetings. Ladies swooning, mom's flirting; I heard a rumor that Coach Beiste kisses a picture of you before she goes to bed every night. And you should hear the stuff Santana says about you and how when you sing, she can almost picture you climbing on top of her, reaching up her skirt, and-"

"OK, OK, thanks Kurt, I've got it. When's the audition?" Kurt smirked widely in success.

"Tomorrow afternoon. 3:30. I'll write you out the address." Kurt pulled a sheet of paper out of his bag, hunched over the piano, and began to write, barely being able to focus with the older man looking over his shoulder.

"You know, Kurt, even though you caused this problem in the first place, you're a life saver. And I don't know what the Glee club would do without you." Kurt didn't have any idea as to how to respond to that. Say, 'thanks, I know'? 'Have to convince Rachel not to throw a party'? 'Let's find out when we sneak away to the janitor's closet this rehearsal and make sweet love like slutty teens at a community centre dance'?

"Let's hope we never have to find out."

* * *

Dear diary,

I am in love with William Schuester. Sure Coach Sylvester made me sign with my blood that I am sworn in allegiance to her and her movement against his curly locks, but something about him just makes me swoon. He's not like Finn or the other guys at this school. Those guys are just as nice as their intelligence let's them be. Will, though, he's nice because he means to be. He could have killed me, or worse, spat on my Gucci gloves after the news today; but he didn't. Just listened, maybe yelled a little, but mostly just various worried looking poses, all of which were very attractive for a man of his stature. I don't plan on going Monica Lewinsky with the guy, but when I'm out of this school, and I'm over eighteen, and he was interested, then I already have the wedding planner on hold. Which reminds me; Will really will make the perfect groom. I already have the most gorgeous shade of periwinkle for the the floral decals on his tuxedo that will make his eyes pop. Those people at Marc Jacobs would be fools not to take him, something I don't say about fashion deities lightly. Really, Will is a Schue in ;) . Let's hope he has better luck then I did with my puns, diary.

* * *

William Schuester walked out of the all white building, feeling the most embarassed he had been perhaps in his entire life. "Sexless stick in the mud"? Really? He didn't like to think he was the cockiest guy on the block, but even he thought that he was pretty handsome. Certainly not enough to make people run for cover. And from what he'd heard from Kurt, enough to make Santana hot. But those people cared about knowing her. These people wanted head-shots, and charismatic stories, previous employers. Will was never going to call full-time models airheads again, because it was clearly a **lot **harder then it looked. Looking through the shoddily labelled envelop ("William Shoester" was not impressed with their secretary's attitude) he found the photographs that proved oh-so sexless. Wow. Maybe they were right. But it wasn't his fault the set-up was a step away from a brothel! Homoerotic cowboy theme? What's next? Exotic stripper? Will crashed right into someone, spilling his photographs to the floor, and knocking over a shrippy looking man with a handlebar mustache, who was chatter away on an ancient looking cell phone. Will dashed to the ground, trying to gather the photographs before the stranger could see, but-

"Lucky horse." Will looked up from the ground, beet red, to find the man had a completely serious expression. Now things were getting strange. "You know, coming from _that _building with... those pictures," The disdain in the man's voice being enough to make Will want to hide under his sheets like a high school prank victim, "I would say you're in need of work." Will nodded slowly and unsurely. I mean, what was the worst that could come of this? "Look, right down at the end of the boulevard, one of my investment projects. Little sleazy, but, from the looks of it, you're desperate for work. And it pays well, so whatever little crisis you got yourself into, you can jump right out of in no time." Where had this guy guessed Will was in any sort of financial troubles? If Terri or Emma was here, he was sure they would be strictly opposed. Following a stranger? Bad idea. But really, his home would be a prison cell in 30 days, and what did he have to lose?

* * *

Will looked up at the dusty old sign perched on top of the given address. "Elizabethan Tea and Biscuits" was what the chipped paint said, but Will wasn't too sure that spelt sleazy. Was this all just some kind of joke? Will felt a little rumble under the ground, and looked up to see that the thin glass pane, coated in dust, had begun to rattle a little to a heavy bass drum beat. It was now or never. So, Will put his shaky hand onto the door handle, and pulled the door wide open, letting in only the artificial light of Xenon lamps into his eyes. The place was darkly lit, but clearly open based on the large amounts of noise coming from downstairs. The walls were decorated with all kinds of paper advertisements, and from here, Will could hear the auto-tuned vocal stylings of Ke$ha, and laughed to himself thinking of poor little Brittany. From there, things only got seedier. The steps were tiled with a cheap plastic material that looked like it was out of a 1970's dance hall, and those ratty little pot light lanterns were hanging from the ceiling. Will reached out for the stair railing, but only felt the cheap lights that were wrapped around the surface, tackily decorating the place. Poor Kurt would have a nightmare if he had to visit Will at work any day. But then, Will could not believe what he was seeing. Vinyl seating? VIP booths? Ratty velvet rope? If Will didn't know any better, he'd think this place was a- HOLY SHIT!

"Rat-a-tat-tat on your dumb-dumb drum, the beat's so fat going to make me-"

"What's going on here?" Will's voice cried out over the rattling of the speaker. The music screeched to a halt, and some shady looking mafioso type guys pulled guns out of their baggy jeans, and directed them right at Will's head.

"Yo, you best not be some kind of motherfucking nark, or something, or undercover cop, or some bullshit. So, the question is, what's going on _here_?" Will would have normally laughed at how absolutely stupid these guys sounded, but with a series of guns directed towards him, he wasn't in a laughing mood. Instead, he decided playing nice guy might get him out alive.

"Hey, guys, you know, there must be a misunderstanding, I was told there was work here for me, Elizabethan Tea & Biscuits, you know, short guy, mustache..." The guys slowly, but surely, put their guns down, and began to chortle with laughter. Then, one wearing a pair of blacked out shades looked right at Will's hands, and snatched the envelope right out of them. "Hey, don't, there's some personal stuff in-"

"HA!" Will cringed in embarrassment as the overweight guard laughed over his racy photographs. Kurt Hummel was so dead at this point. "Hey guys, look, curly got a pony for Christmas and decided to take it for a ride!" The entire bar burst into laughter, and even what appeared to be a male stripper in a pair of Swarovski adorned leather hot-pants chortled out a laugh or two. "Look, kid, these are cute pictures, really, and I guess if the boss thought you were cool, you can take the cage for a whirl tonight. But I'm tellin' you right now, there ain't no way you stayin' there too long with that conservative thin' you got goin' on." Will's face went beet red, and he immediately tried to jump into an explanation of some sort.

"Wait, uh, I'm sorry, I don't think-"

"You're wages for tonight are going to be $200, not including tips, which we expect 50% of. Male, or female audience members, don't discriminate. Do good at the nightly tip cash in, and you get a bonus. Got it?" Will couldn't believe this was actually happening. A stripper? A god damn stripper? What choices did he have? Go back to Lima, spend 30 days with the Glee club, leave them, Sectional-less, and go into the slammer? And Kurt was definitely going to wonder why he didn't get the gig. And if he had to show that porcelain skinned teenager those awful pictures, he was going to rip out his hair, and shove it down Sue Sylvester's throat. He'd had experience seducing women before, right? And he'd always thought he was sexy... ish. What the hell.

"Alright. Let's do it."

* * *

*Gasp* Big cliffhanger! Not really, but whatever. Considering I've been on crazy-leave for a while, I'd say it's not too shabby (emphasis on the TOO). Try and maintain your faith, readers. I would like to state, though, Kurt and Will Schuester do **not, not, not, not, NOT hook up!** I cannot be clearer! I will not be responsible for some pedo-action at WMHS! The song was Sleazy by the oh-so classy Ke$ha (who is my favourite trashy $inger of all time), and there will be more stripper anthems soon, believe me! I've chronicalized my iTunes library, and I found the most commonly used theme tags were 'sexy', 'stripper', and 'kinky'. Pop music. Like no other genre. So, pretty, pretty please try and review, or even alert, because you have no idea how happy that makes me. Honesty time? I alert almost every story I read. Honest. Do I read all of them? No, but do I at least like being able to flip through stories on my phone? Yep. So, if you are one of zillions of people who have gotten an alert from me... PRETTY PLEASE? This would be the best coming back gift ever! Whatever, begging is for sore sports. I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Until next time!


	2. I Got A Plan

New update! I am not a fan of schedules, because I don't think I can actually keep up with one, and some days I can write ridiculous amounts, and I don't want to apologize for posting too much. And I like to post as I write. But, I wanted to say, Schue won't be stuffing dollars into his metaphorical g-string until **next chapter, **just because I felt that there was too much content in between then and now that I needed to cover, and refused to rush. Enough of my jibber-jabber, onto the story!

* * *

"Mr. Schue!" Kurt could not believe it. After spending an hour finding the perfect outfit for a day out with Will Schuester, and cancelling a perfectly good shopping trip with Mercedes, he was now at the plaza, where Will was seated, oblivious to the boy in the car. If anything, Kurt Hummel was NOT inconspicuous. Being noticed was one of his passions. And for every David Karofsky, he knew there was a Mercedes Jones, who loved his wild self just as much as he did, and he had no time for any of the others who wanted to bring him down. But Mr. Schue was totally unaware of the effect he had on Kurt, and what a downer he gave him when he didn't even notice the boy shouting out the car window, a mere few feet away from his parking spot.

**Kurt: **Schue, I'm parked right in front of u, look up!

Will's phone buzzed from deep inside his coat pocket, the screen illuminating with Kurt's message. Truth be told, he was a little too preoccupied to be looking at cars in a parking lot right now. Instead of dieting or spray tanning for some fancy modeling shoot, he'd have to prep the body glitter and oils for a strip routine at a bi-curious sleazy strip joint. Oh, the good life.

"Mr. Schuester, how'd it go? Do you think you're going to get a call-back?" Crap. He hadn't even thought about that? What was he supposed to do, lie, and say he got the job? Didn't get the job? Honesty is the best policy, but in this case, how exactly was he going to explain this one? "Mr. Schue, better yet, why the hell were you seated outside of that sleazy strip joint?" How did everyone but him know this was a strip club? Will's face started to redden, and he began to stutter out something that resembled words.

"Isn't that a tea place?" Kurt sighed loudly, and playfully scuffled the teacher's hair. Yep. He had no boundaries. But who cared, right?

"Oh, William-"

"Please, Mr. Schuester."

"Mr. Schuester, you are so naive. So young. So... trusting. Here, how about you go through my CD's, pick something to play on the stereo for the ride back, while I go through your brand new, industry snapped pictures. I bet they are something to die for!" Believe me, Will thought, they are. How damn suspicious would it be if he knocked the photos out of the boys hand? And let's face it, one look and it'd be obvious who got the job; not him. So, Will decided to play stupid, toss the first CD he could find into the player, and crank up the stereo, hoping it'd be so loud that Kurt's cries as his retinas burned would be inaudible. The sounds of 'Hung Up' roared over the speakers, and as Kurt slowly peeled open the envelope, Will definitely identified with 'Time goes by so slowly'.

* * *

Will is so cute when he is inexplicably nervous over nothing. And if I were gross, I'd never wash this hand again; I got Schue hair all over it! I bet these pictures are just adorable, I had heard they were going for a quaint country theme in this- oh. my. fucking. god. Is that- I think I just died and went to heaven. But it's not what I expected. He doesn't look sexy, he looks... old. And dusty. Like a sexless stick in the mud. Even though I can feel my temperature rise exponentially at the sight of him in leather chaps. But quick, say something before he thinks you're creeping him...

* * *

"Wow, Will. Looks like My Little Pony isn't so little anymore. I take it you didn't get the job?" Will sat in his passenger seat anxiously, then placed a hand to his ear, making a quizzical expression. "Don't give me that, Schuester, you heard me loud and clear, just because you rode that rocking horse like a cheap hooker at a country western brothel doesn't mean I'm going to treat you any different." Will sighed, then turned the knob on the stereo to make Madonna turn way down.

"Look, Kurt, I'm sorry, but I guess that job just wasn't meant for me. But it's going to be OK-"

"How? How's it going to be OK? Mr. Schuester, I bankrupted the Glee club, and if we don't get the money back, then-"

"I know, Kurt, don't you think I know that?" Will's sudden burst of rage left an awkward silence in the car for a couple of seconds, before Kurt went down a different line of questioning.

"So...do you have any other qualifications?"

"Why?"

"For another job. You're going to have to apply pretty soon."

* * *

This is it. I have to tell him. There's no way I could get away with not. The poor kid is having a fit over this, and sure finding out your teacher is a stripper stings, but a whole lot less then the end of Glee and my prison sentencing. Besides, Kurt's a great showman, he could help me to no end with my performance. In an absolutely secret and no creepy way, of course. Burt Hummel doesn't seem like the type to want Kurt to help me seduce desperate men and women at a strip club.

* * *

"Kurt, there's something I have to tell you." Kurt looked over at the man quizzically, then quickly went back to looking at the road, with an unreadable expression. Kurt was like that sometimes. One second of vulnerability, for a minute of stone. He'd learned through Finn and the like that sometimes that was the best way to do it. Emotions meant dreams, and dreams mean heartbreak, which is just one huge disadvantage. So, he focused on the car ahead of him, and the otherwise empty street. "You've been a huge help to me, finding a job and such. That's why I have to be honest with you." Kurt's heart began to race a mile a minute. This was it. The moment he spent his entire adolescent waiting for. William Schuester, soon to be William Hummel-Schuester, was professing his love, proposing, saying he wanted to take experimental drugs, and find a way to give birth to Kurt's babies. Really, this was just the beginning. Kurt couldn't believe how cute Will was looking right now. So, he calmed himself down, and readied himself to hear the news he was destined to hear. He could see it now, Kurt Hummel, fashion designer and multi-talented pop star extraordinary, and William Schuester, who when introduced to his friends and family, would proudly tell them-

"I was hired as a stripper at the ETB place after seeing those pictures."

"WHAT? That is not going down well at our wedding-"

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind, but NO WAY IN HELL ARE YOU, MR. WILLIAM SCHUESTER, GOING TO BE A **LOW CLASS STRIPPER!**_" _Will was a little bit scared at this point. Sure, he expected the boy to be grossed out, but outright hysterical? Were those tears he saw in his eyes?

"Kurt, you don't understand, those guys had guns, I can't not do this job-"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Kurt's face hardened, and he slowly put his hands off the wheel, and parked right in the middle of the road.

"What are you doing-"

"Get the hell out of my car, Schuester."

"What? Kurt-"

"You know, if you weren't such a crappy teacher, I could tell you in Spanish, but I'll just stick with english. You know, the language those disgustingly tasteless 80's bands sang in? You, William, are getting out of my car. Or else."

"Or else what?" 'Or else I'll kiss you!', Kurt thought angrily. What do you say when the unbeknown love of your life decides to become a stripper? Sue advised them to do what Madonna would do, but let's face it, it's not like any of her relationships were lasting (though Kurt would be more than happy to be Jesus' sloppy second!). He couldn't believe it. He'd put aside their differences in fashion and music, even gotten past the buoyancy of his hair. And he does this? Will watched as Kurt's face changed, thinking about what he would want Mercedes, a friend, to do in a situation like this for him, regardless of judgements or crazy marriage ideas.

"Or I'll take you to my place, and get you ready for your first whirl on the pole." Kurt gave the teacher a soft smile, and the pair got moving again, Will laughing to himself in relief.

"Oh, by the way, it's a cage."

"Of course it is. Why not a pony?" Will groaned loudly in response, and the two laughed outrageously loudly on the drive home.

* * *

"I can't believe you actually dyed my hair black!"

"Oh, shut up, it makes you look sexier." The split second of silence was beyond uncomfortable, but Kurt made sure to find another topic to talk to William about through the bathroom door. Kurt figured, even though he was **strongly **opposed to his teacher, and feature husband, being a stripper, he should be doing it with Kurt's help; it was his fault, after all. "Do the shorts fit?"

"They are clinging everywhere, and it hurts when I breathe in."

"Perfect, then. Come on out." Silence. "Come on, Schuester, we don't have all day, you have a strip club to perform at."

"Kurt? What's going on here?" Crap. Burt Hummel, who was confused, not furious, clearly didn't hear him say anything about Schuester, was looking at Kurt like his son has grown a third head.

"Hey dad. Uh, Mercedes is getting dressed, just playful banter, I call her a stripper, she calls me a whore-"

"That girl call you a whore, Kurt?"

"Dad, it's fine, we're friends, it's funny." Burt's glare didn't budge in it's intensity, and even Kurt was starting to feel for the girl, who wasn't even here.

"Hey, Porsche-"

"Mercedes."

"Jaguar, listen, please tell me if I have anything to worry about." Will looked into the mirror and saw a shocking sight. A scared man, wearing bright yellow, patent leather short-shorts, and a tacky hawaiian shirt (completely open, of course), alongside androgynous stripper shoes and some tacky, blacked out shades. Will didn't know Burt to well, but unless the man was blind, something told him that he wouldn't mistake him as Mercedes. And no way he sounded like the girl, either.

"Dad, Mercedes- Mercedes got a tongue piercing." Burt's right eyebrow raised, both in curiosity and disappointment. "Yeah, it's a little infected, she's dealing with it right now, though, so you should just get to your bowling game." Will couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did Kurt just lie to his own father for him? Hiding a stripper in your bathroom is bad enough, but when that stripper is your teacher, it's clear who's acting like the kid, and who's acting like the adult. Will hated to make assumptions about the kids, but he often wondered if maybe Kurt had a tiny bit of a crush on him. It wasn't just the way he acted, either, but he noticed some time last year, the teen had developed a habit of humming the wedding march when they walked side by side. And Will couldn't have this kid lying to his own father for his insane crush on his stripper, overage teacher.

"Sure?"

"Yeah, dad."

"Love you, kid, make sure you do your homework and all that, ok?" Kurt nodded, smiling at his overprotective father as he made his way to their driveway. When Kurt heard the car pull out of the drive, he swung the bathroom door wide open.

"Come on, tacky stripper boy, time for the sleazy men and women of Lima to put some one dollar bills in the fold of your underpants." Kurt tried his best to ignore how absolutely smoking his teacher looked, as he sorted out Will's leather jacket and army pants. What, a stupid strip routine always has to start off with the dancer removing some for of clothing, and unless Will wanted to pull off his short and shirt- Kurt almost paused for a moment to reconsider the extra clothes, before he felt Will brush past him briskly.

"Kurt, this isn't a good idea. I know you're trying to help me, but you just lied to your dad."

"So?"

"You never lie to him. Kurt, this is wrong, you shouldn't be helping me with this."

"It was my problem in the first place."

"But I'm the adult, I have to fix it."

"But without my help, Will, you won't be-"

"Stop calling me that! Mr. Schuester, for the last time, Kurt! And I'm sorry, but for whatever reason you're helping me with this, it has to end, and you should just-"

"Whatever reason?" Kurt's playful bantering expression fell to reveal something much more upset. "What's that supposed to mean, Mr. Schuester?"

"Kurt, you're a great kid, but, I mean, I'm not- we're not- I just don't think you understand-"

"That I'm not going to be with you, huh? What, that half of McKinley wants to do you, and why should it be the gay kid? Who am I to you, Schue? Just some pathetic loser who's tagging along after you? And I'll have you know, that I have absolutely no feelings for you, so maybe somebody needs to deflate their egos!"

"Kurt, that's a lie, and you know it." The silence was deafening.

"The lie was that I'd ever want anything to do with you, _Mr. Schuester_. Go ahead, run along to the strip club and make some cash, but I'll have you know, that there is no way you're going to make a dime without my help, which is now officially retracted. For good." Silence. "Hello? You can leave." Silence. "Like, right now!"

* * *

Dear diary,

My teacher has decide become the low-rent version of a Chippendales worker. Long story short, diary? He didn't get the part, but he did get a gig as a stripper tonight. I reluctantly decided to help the pathetic man, but he rudely declined, after I had spent two hours getting him ready, and a half hour setting up an iPod playlist for his one-on-one room striptease songs. I even bothered to teach him a little booty-thrust for Goldfrapp's Ooh La La! What an ungrateful cretin. How long will it take for him to come crawling back, do you think? I have to go before I stain your pages with the tears spilled over some stupid man being cocky enough to believe I'd actually love him.

* * *

* * *

TBC! I think this is one of my first chapters ever to not have a cliffhanger (attempt!). So, a few things. Nobody is asking (which tells me I'm doing the right thing in this regard) about time line, or Blaine, so, truth time. Oh boy... I hate Blaine. There, I said it. Sorry, Blaine fans, but he's just so chipper, and freaking happy all the time; kind of makes me sick to my stomach. And Dalton... too soon. I just left my private school, remember, and that also had an enforced anti-bullying policy. And I left for bullying... ? So, it's season two, and we're just going to pretend Blaine and Dalton never entered Kurt's life (they're still in Sectionals), and Karofsky never kissed Kurt. As you can see, Kurt's plots are pissing me off a little. Couple other things... Schue and Kurt will never hook up. I know I said that before, I just want to make it clear as water. I may write this at the end of every chapter, actually, and until I change my mind, which I am 99.9999999% sure I won't. Now, the desperate part. Reviews? Please? I absolutely love getting reviews, and I didn't get the chance YET, but I will respond to all things sent in! And, I am a useless hack, so... how does one find out if people are reading a story? Call me technically disabled, but some assistance would be so appreciated. Anyways, thank you for reading, and I apologize for the worlds longest epilogue thing, and have a super day! And readers are awesome, thank you very much! Until next time!


	3. UPDATE

I definitely hate having to write this, and even hate reading messages like this when other authors do the same, but this is the end of this story. And all future Glee fiction stories. Lately, I haven't been very pleased with the show at all, and haven't liked or related to any of the characters, but more recently, I feel like Will and Kurt have become completely non-understandable. The characters we made them out to be in season one appear to be gone, and now are pretty much manipulated to suit the plots of the show. Also, I just haven't enjoyed the show lately, which makes being inspired quite impossible. So, sorry to those of you who enjoyed this story, because I enjoyed writing it. As I've said before, I went to a school like Dalton once upon a time, and left it, due to bullying. And watching the show promote schools like this, that literally have made some of my lonelier peers try to kill themselves, is just wrong. Maybe some of them are good, but really, my school had an anti-bullying policy, and pretty much left me for dead. I actually got bullied by the teachers at the end a fair bit, too. So, this could be contributed to "it's not you, it's me", because really, that one plot has made the show pretty intolerable for me. Like a cold slap in the face every time I tune in. Oh, my local public school has a GSA, but this school didn't; but it **did **have a prayer room, chapel three times a week, and a Christian Fellowship. Oh, and this wasn't a religious school. Just a place that probably doesn't understand that throwing personal beliefs at students is wrong. So, I'll keep watching, and who knows, maybe if things severely change, I might update. But I highly doubt it. Thank you for reading those two chapters, and have a super day!


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